


The Three Weddings of Rachel Green

by isis2015



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:09:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6393853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isis2015/pseuds/isis2015
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She made her way to the restroom and leaned heavily against the sink. She took a deep breath and looked at herself. Why are you doing this? Who are you doing this for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First One

**Author's Note:**

> This could possibly be thought of as following [The Heart Where I Have Roots](http://archiveofourown.org/works/582394) and [And You're the Only One Who Knows](http://archiveofourown.org/works/613613), but they're not necessary reading for this. Unless you want to, of course.

It was the gravy boat that did it. It caught her eye as she was taking a survey of the gifts, seeing who bought what, and then there it was. Gorgeous. Expensive. Crystal. Three of her favorite things. She couldn't take her eyes off of it.

The more she stared, the more she became sick to her stomach. She had been in knots all day, and had ascribed it to pre-wedding nerves. It was such a beautiful venue, everything looked just the way she had always imagined and the more she had looked at all of it, the more she had wanted to vomit.

That was what had lead her here. She had needed a quiet place alone, to gather her thoughts. So she stood and stared and tried to make her stomach unclench.

She thought of Barry. That didn't help. It should have. She was gonna be married, to a doctor, live in a nice house, just like she had always dreamed. But thinking of Barry didn't make her feel better. Thinking about the gravy boat did, but not Barry. What did that even mean?

She backed away, her breathing growing even more erratic. Why was she marrying Barry? They were in love, right? Right?! So why did the thought of marrying him suddenly seem to nauseate her? Why could she look at a crystal gravy boat and feel calm but her fiancée gave her an anxiety attack?

Her back hit a wall without her knowing she had moved, and then the, absurd, thought hit her. Mr. Potato Head. That was who marry reminded her of. She has been trying to think of it for months and there it was.

She was marrying Mr. Potato Head. No. No, she was marrying Barry. She gripped her stomach. She. Was marrying. Barry. No, that didn't make it better. If the thought drove her to illness, why was she doing this? She thought of her Mom and Dad, talking to each other without yelling for the first time months. She thought of how excited they were for this wedding, her marriage, her future.

She was going to vomit. She made her way to the restroom and leaned heavily against the sink. She took a deep breath and looked at herself. _Why are you doing this? Who are you doing this for?_

She took a look around, just to get her bearings. Slowly, and without any real conscious purpose she walked over to the window. She looked out over the grounds and saw a line of taxis in the distance. She began to wonder how much force it would take to pop the out the frame. She wondered how fast she could run, how far she would get before anyone noticed she was gone.

The frame came out pretty easily. Even though her gown was beautiful and incredibility expensive, she didn't care when she landed in the fountain. She didn't even care that she fell down. All that she cared about was getting the hell away from this place as fast as she possibly could.

She made her way to the line of taxis and threw herself into the back of the one at the head of the line. "Take me to Monica," she said, without really knowing why.

"Excuse me?"

She took a breath and gave him an actual address. He said, "Yes, ma'am," then seemed to catch a better look at her. "Are you the..."

She sighed. "Not anymore." He gave her a look, but then pulled out of the line of cabs and made his way toward the city. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

_Just get to Monica. It'll be alright, just get to Monica._


	2. The Second One

She remembered things in pieces. She didn’t remember saying “I do” but she remembered the gaudy colors of the Las Vegas chapel. She remembered laughing, throwing rice. She never got to that part at her first wedding, so that was something, she supposed.

She remembered the Pizza Hut Newlywed Special. She remembered it tasting good at the time, but what doesn’t when you’re that drunk?

She didn’t remember much else.

When she thought about all of it later, what she mostly remembered were the jokes. Some from her, some from Ross, some from everyone else. About marriage and gifts and divorce. And every now and then, it would hit her, really hit her, that she had married Ross. They had been married and now they were divorced.

She supposed there were a thousand ways to write it off, to make it unimportant. They were friends. They had made a drunken mistake and now it was behind them. But, she thought sometimes, when she was in bed, alone and lonely, that maybe it wasn’t that simple. Not when you’ve loved the person. Not when you’ve thought they might be the one you marry some day.

On the days after those nights, the jokes hurt more. She still smiled, she still laughed, because she didn’t want anyone to know. She didn’t want to think about the fact that she was someone’s ex-wife, that she was _Ross’s_ ex-wife. It makes her ache in the same way that she had when she’d thought about being Barry’s wife.

So she smiled and she laughed and she joked back and she hoped one day, it would be funny.


	3. The Last One

As she studied her face in the mirror and took a deep breath, in and out, she was struck suddenly by the realization that she wasn't nervous. She wasn't nervous at all. The longer she checked herself over, a little last minute catalog, the more she expected the feeling to come. But it never did.

She looked herself up and down. Her gown was tasteful but still sexy. Naturally. Her jewelry minimal but glimmering in the light nonetheless. She smiled. She looked like she'd always dreamed she would on her wedding day.

Her third wedding day, a nagging part of her brain (that sounded suspiciously like her mother) reminded her. Her last wedding day, she countered. And the voice stopped.

But it wasn't the dress that made her smile. Or the jewelry. Or that she was finally getting the wedding she'd always dreamed of. It wasn't any of that.

As she looked herself up and down in the full length mirror in the back room of St. Christopher’s Church, what made her smile was the clear, unquestionable knowledge that this was it. This was right. This was how it was supposed to be. Supposed to feel. This was right, and she knew it.

A soft knock came at the door. "Oh, come on, we talked about this. It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride." Pre-wedding quickies were not a thing, she wanted to add. But it felt like a distasteful thing to say in a Catholic Church, with dozens of her family members a stone's throw away. So, she refrained. Nonetheless, the telltale rattle of the old doorknobs let her know the door was opening.

She turned, hands on her hips, but they fell as she saw who was standing in the doorway. It took a few moments, a couple of uncomfortable coughs, but finally he said, "Hi."

She was stunned to silence. She didn't know what to say, so she just said, "Ross." She hasn't expected him to come. He had been invited, of course, but no RSVP had been returned, and Monica's inquiries had gone unanswered. At some point, they had all just taken silence for their answer and, though disappointed, moved on. "Hi," she added, not wanting to be rude. She was still smiling. She was glad to see him. 

She briefly remembered the time he had come to the airport to stop her from going to Paris, and the time she had flown to London to break up his own wedding. But she dismissed these memories. They were different people now, behind that kind of behavior. At least she hoped.

"I know it's a little late to RSVP," he joked, holding the wedding invitation that had been sent to him and doing his best to smile. He was in a nice tux. He didn't look entirely comfortable, but he was here and he was trying. That was more than she had given him, and more, then, that she thought she had any right to hope for.

"Doesn't matter," she dismissed. "You're here."

"I didn't know...but then I thought..." He took a deep breath. Rachel held hers. In a way, the last few months, since the engagement was announced, had been building to this. It was the first time they'd seen each other in weeks, trading Emma back and forth through Monica (who privately chastised them both for it). She had no idea what he was going to say.

"You look beautiful," he commented. He didn't say it in a leering way, or even with a kind of familiar intimacy. He said it like a pure compliment, a friend making an observation. That was encouraging.

"Thank you," she replied. "I take it from the tux, you'll be sticking around?" She hoped he would. She would understand if he didn't, but she hoped he would 

"I'd like that," he confirmed, nodding a bit awkwardly. They were all going to have to start getting used to this. "If you still want me here."

"Of course we do," she assured him. "It means the world to us." Ross nodded a few times. "Especially him," she added, deeply seriously. Ross looked up a bit sharply at this, but she let her gaze speak for itself.

"Well, then...I'm glad to be here." He tried a smile again, and it got a little bit closer to the real thing. Rachel smiled back.

"Monica and Chandler saved you a seat with them," she informed. He looked a bit taken aback, but recovered quickly, nodding, obviously touched. "And Emma is co-flower girl with Erica."

Ross laughed a little at that. "How's she taking that?" Erica had a well known competitive streak. Go figure.

"Well, better than her mother, at least," she replied, chuckling a little. In this arena, Monica Geller remained supreme.

"I appreciate this, Rach," he told her.

"I'm really glad you're here," she replied.

There was a long stretch of silence, and the both of them knew they were burying in it all of the words they had never said and now never would say. They were putting the past in the past and leaving it there. It was a bit sad, yes, but they both knew that it was time.

"I should probably go take my seat," he said, gesturing to the door. She nodded, smiling gently. As he reached the door, hand on the knob, he turned back and said, "Rach."

"Yeah?"

He took a deep breath. "Are you happy?"

She smiled, nodded. "I am," she confirmed. "We are," she added.

He nodded a few times and smiled again. He wasn't quite there yet, but he was on his way. "That's all I ever wanted."

"I know."

He nodded a few times, then pulled the door open. "See you on the other side," he said. And then he was gone.

She took a deep breath, in and out, and let it all go. The awkwardness, the past. She let it all go and turned back to her reflection, no less sure than she had been ten minutes ago. She smiled. It was big, and it was real.

"T minus ten minutes," Monica called, popping her head in the room, looking more than a little mad with power. It was her way, after all. "Aw, you look so pretty."

"Thank you," she told her. She thought about all that Monica had brought into her life, all that she had because of one act of compassion from a friend when she was at the lowest point in her life. She was so glad she was here now as well, sharing the highest. "Ross is here."

"Really?" Monica seemed genuinely surprised. "Good. Joey'll be happy."

"I hope so," she replied, talking about more than just Ross's late invitation acceptance. Monica gave her a knowing smile.

"I've seen him, Rach," she said. "Believe me, he's happy." Rachel smiled at that. He heart beat a bit faster in her chest. "T minus eight minutes. Get that veil on and let's get this show on the road!"

With that, Monica bounded from the room, going about the task of making sure everyone was where they were supposed to be, and castigating those that weren't. What more could you want from your maid of honor?

Veil secured tightly in place, Rachel took one last look at herself in the mirror. She took one last long breath, in and out. The music started to play. She smiled. She was ready. 

She met her father at the door, and he gave her the best smile he could muster. He had agreed to keep his usual barbed opinions to himself and to do his best to support her decisions. "But really, an actor?" was the last comment he had been allowed. Her mother, who was required by tradition to sit next to her father and God only knew how that was going to go, however, was thrilled.

"Ready, pumpkin?" he asked, cordially, she thought. He really was trying. She kissed his cheek.

"Absolutely," she answered. 

The sound of the organ filled the air. The co-flower girls went first, to the great joy of the assembled, then Monica, in all of her maid of honor glory, the bridesmaids (Phoebe, naturally, her sisters, ordered by their mother to smile they were going to be photographed for God's sake, Dina, the youngest and least gaudy Tribbiani sibling), and then, there was only her. She took the first step, tugging her father's arm, and he went.

The church was huge (Catholic at the insistence of the mother of the groom) and full. All around her were people she loved, people who loved her, loved them. She felt light, as if she were floating. Everything about this felt so easy. So right.

Then she looked to the altar, and it might as well have just been the two of them. Her and Joey. Her best friend. Maybe the best man she had ever known. And he was going to be her husband. She let out a long breath, tried to keep walking straight, hoping the photographers were catching the way she was smiling.

With expected reluctance her father let her go at the altar. She squeezed his hand and he took his seat next to her mother. She hoped their temporary cease fire lasted at least through the ceremony.

One step, then another. Joey reached out for her hand and she took it. The room shrunk down to the two of them. Her parents could scream at the top of her lungs. The building could catch fire for all either of them knew or cared in that moment.

He leaned forward and whispered, "How you doin'?"

"I'm doin' good, baby. How you doin'?" She whispered back.

He smiled and her stomach flipped. She smiled back, squeezed his hand. From somewhere that sounded very far away from her, she heard the priest begin to speak. _Yes_ , she thought. _This is it_ , she knew. _This is right._

This was the one; the last one.


End file.
